


Constellation Points, Pointing North

by bitochondria



Series: The Stars Are Different Out Here [1]
Category: due South
Genre: (sort of), Break Up, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Multiple, Post-Call of the Wild, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitochondria/pseuds/bitochondria
Summary: Ray Vecchio thinks about what it will take to move on with his life. Benton Fraser thinks about how to tell the man he loves and the man he once loved what they need to hear. Ray Kowalski thinks about how he's pretty sure Fraser is going to dissolve their partnership. All three of them are hopelessly awkward, but eventually everything gets cleared up.(A brief warning: this is intended to be fairly canon-compliant. Ray V. & Fraser definitely have/had feelings for one another, but no matter how much I love Ray V., Fraser and Ray K. are endgame here. And yes, I am writing a post-Call of the Wild fic in the year 2020. I'm hoping this falls under thetwo cakes rule.)
Relationships: (implied past attraction), Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski, Benton Fraser/Ray Vecchio
Series: The Stars Are Different Out Here [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682293
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	1. Vecchio, In Traction

Ray Vecchio was in love with Benton Fraser, and he knew nothing would ever come of it. They weren’t going to buy a little house in Highland Park and read the paper together in matching flannel pj’s, they weren’t going to settle down and raise Diefen-puppies, and they sure as hell weren’t going to be the doting gay uncles to Frannie’s kids someday. Ray knew enough of the world to understand any and all of that was a fantasy. He had put the whole idea aside, anyway, when he had gone undercover. 

But even so, Benny going off to Canada and saving the day without him hurt a little. And even so, that he  _ probably _ wouldn’t be coming back hurt quite a lot. And even so, the short, sharp knife that had pierced his heart when he met the other man who wore his name— well, it twisted just a  _ little _ harder when he heard Benny’s voice on the other end of the line. 

He had never been able to tell him how he felt while they were partners. Even if the stars had aligned and the perfect place and time had miraculously manifested themselves, what would he have said?  _ ‘Hey, I know you’re an unbelievably attractive, capable, and virtuous Canadian boy scout, and I’m a balding schlub with self-esteem issues, but I think maybe there’s a spark between us?’ _ Yeah right. 

He had taken Frannie aside once and told her that Benny was out of her league. A cruel-to-be-kind scenario, he had convinced himself; he was protecting his little sister from inevitable heartbreak. But he had also just been jealous and heartsick. If Benton was out of  _ Frannie’s _ league, then he and Benny weren’t even playing the same game.

The Yukon-cold comfort that Benny  _ also _ probably wasn’t playing for the same  _ team _ rarely did more than make him feel stupid, but it was better than holding out delusional hope. Benny barely showed interest in any women— forget men. The man had the sex drive of a sea anenome. (Not, of course, Ray admitted, that he had ever given Benny any reason to believe  _ he _ had any interest in men. He only  _ dated _ women. Under what circumstances could he have casually dropped,  _ ‘Oh, Benny, you know, one time during confirmation classes I got off with Gio Bianchi in the church basement?’ _ or  _ ‘Just about every time I go to a wedding I end up in a bathroom giving a furtive handy to another closet-case cop or fireman or contractor buddy from elementary school?’ _ Again— yeah right.)

And yet, in those last few months with Benny, there had been an unspoken shift between them— a feeling like something was settling into place. Sometimes Fraser had looked at him with an inexplicable sort of softness, quite unlike his usual intense, prolonged, practiced eye contact. It had felt like they were just on the cusp of a real  _ conversation _ about their partnership— an airing of buried thoughts and feelings, a long overdue processing of what had happened that last winter.

Ray knew, for better or for worse, that if they had had that conversation, he wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about his feelings. But then he had been asked to go undercover.

He had almost told them no—  _ not while Benny’s gone _ —  _ not while I can’t say goodbye _ —  _ not while it seems like we’re so close to something _ — but in the end, he had decided that duty took precedence over his hopeless infatuation. And that maybe it would be healthy to step away for a little while. If Benny did feel the same way, maybe they would both be better equipped to handle that conversation when he got back. And if he didn’t, maybe the time spent apart would help file down the edges of his feelings.

So, he had left him the photo, and hoped he would understand.

But when Benny had opened his hotel room door, his stomach had flipped, and not because his cover was blown. Benny’s smile knocked down all the walls he had been building in his heart. He was smiling like he was in love. 

The only thing that had prevented him from telling Muldoon to go fuck himself and taking Benny out in the hall to kiss him silly— well, the only thing besides what an unbelievably stupid idea that was— was the sullen, squirrely blonde man scowling behind Benny. 

He didn’t need a psych degree to put their relationship together; the man’s face was a goddamn mirror. This other Ray— who wasn’t actually named Ray, and yet, painfully, that’s what Benny called him— was so obviously hung up on Benny that possessiveness and aggression cascaded off him from the moment he figured out who Vecchio was. Ray stupidly took the bait, and the moment the goons were taken care of, he and his replacement were trading barbs. 

He wondered, briefly, if it was a bizarre coincidence that they managed to hire two bisexual police detectives with a weakness for blue eyes and poor social skills, or if everyone who was ever partnered with Benny just happened to fall in love with him.

That someone had taken his name and his place was the first cut, but it was one he had expected; that he might have to think of this interloper as competition drove the knife in a little further. Even that would have been a treatable wound, however— other than more hair, what did this replacement Ray have to offer that he didn’t? Initially, every time Scruffy scowled at him, Ray felt a little bit of satisfaction— he was going to take his place back beside Benny, and this little punk knew it. 

Until he noticed Benny was… different. No one would ever accuse Benny of being normal, but it was like… something in him had  _ broadened _ since he had last seen him. He was more casual with everyone at the station. He joked more. He was more willing to let others take the lead and trust in their decision making. If before, he had been the North Star, it was like now he was becoming part of a constellation. The third twist of the knife: without him, Benny had grown. Changed. And he hadn’t been there.

And then he caught Benny smiling at the replacement goldfish in that same soft way he had at him, more than two years ago. Another gouge, deeper this time: if Stanley Kowalski had feelings for Benny, they were, at least in part, reciprocated. 

But the absolute worst part— the killing strike— was that Ray realized what that meant. The way Benny behaved with Kowalski— the glances, the casual physical contact, the goddamn  _ devotion _ — it was the same as how he had behaved with him those last few months before he had to go under. Which is to say: Benny had loved him. And he hadn’t been able to see it. And he had missed his chance. 

He could see, now, in the way Benny looked at him, that the ghost of those feelings was still there. And he could see the guilt and the discordance this was causing him. And he knew that if he  _ really _ wanted to, with time, he could make Benny remember why they had worked so well together. That he could win him back. He could tell Kowalski was the same as him— he hadn’t ever said anything about his feelings. If he made a move now— if he was the first one to communicate how he felt— he could probably have him, easy.

But to assert himself in that way now would be to ignore the feelings of the very person he cared the most about. To trample on the growth he had made. Benny deserved to come to his own conclusions, even if, knowing him, it would take him the next hundred years to puzzle through his feelings.

And so when Benny called from Canada, it hurt, but the worst damage had already been done. 

“How are you doing, Ray?” As usual, his first concern was never himself.

“I’m okay, Benny. Up and about.” He still needed surgery, but frankly, he felt alright. There was no need to worry his friend. “You? I heard Muldoon’s in custody.”

“You heard correctly,” he agreed, but he didn’t sound happy. Something hadn’t gone as planned. There was a brief silence that sounded almost as if the phone had disconnected. Then Benny swallowed. “I’m glad to hear you’re well, Ray.” He cleared his throat. “In all the commotion, I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

Ray squeezed the receiver a little too tight. “I missed you, too.” He wanted to make a joke, but his mouth was suddenly a little too dry to speak. 

“I wish…” 

There was another pause, and then Benny made a sort of  _ hrm _ sound. When he started up again, his speech was rapid. “I wish we could have reunited under different circumstances.”

Ray knew what that meant— in a different world, maybe we could have picked up where we left off. A pain shot through his chest, and it wasn’t from the bullet. 

“Me too, Benny.” 

Silence once more. Benny had never been that good with big emotional displays, and Ray had never been very good at not turning them into jokes. Over the phone, where they couldn’t see one another’s faces— couldn’t read one another— it was a thousand times harder.

“There are…” He sighed, or perhaps inhaled quite audibly. “There are some things I need to take care of, here. And I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you. Leaving without saying goodbye.”

The unspoken coda: _ like you did. _

“But… I’m not certain I’ll be returning to Chicago in any official capacity, Ray.”

He had known it was coming, but it didn’t make him feel any less like he was letting him slip through his fingers.

“Yeah. Frannie told me you might be heading to Toronto with Thatcher. I’m,” he paused, wetting his lips. “I’m glad you’re getting to go home.”

“Well, not Toronto.” For a moment, with facts to explain, Benny sounded like himself. “Toronto isn’t home for me. And besides, I’m not going with Thatcher. I’m…” His tone grew quiet. Guilty. “I’m not entirely certain what comes next, if I’m going to be honest, Ray. I need to…” For a split second, it sounded like his voice wavered. “I need to figure out what…” 

Ray could almost see Benny, looking at the floor, biting the inside of his lip.  _ Just spit it out, you handsome idiot. _

“I need to talk to— to Stanley about his plans.” 

The inside of Ray’s nose started to burn, just a little. He bit down on the edge of his tongue, refusing to let his emotions get the best of him. 

“Sure, sure.” He pulled the receiver away from his mouth a little so Benny couldn’t hear the shake in his voice. “Is he thinking about becoming a mountie?” He attempted an injection of levity.

He heard a quiet chuckle on the other end. “No, Ray. I…” His breathing suddenly grew very quiet. “I think we may both be taking some time off from the force, to tell you the truth. That is, if.” He paused. “If he wants to.”

The burn grew stronger. He wondered if Benny was inviting Kowalski to work on the old cabin, like he had so often threatened him with. Somehow, that idea hurt more than anything else he had said. 

Ray swallowed.

Benny continued. “It… won’t be forever, Ray. I don’t particularly want to get in the habit of only seeing you once every two to three years.” 

Now it was Ray’s turn to chuckle, weakly. But he still couldn’t muster a real response.

“We’ll visit— I. I’ll visit.” A distinct scratchiness limned his next few words. “I don’t ever want to stop thinking of you as my friend, Ray.”

“Never, Benny.” He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, willing himself to stay dry-eyed. “You sure as hell better come and visit me. Frannie’ll have my head if you aren’t here for Thanksgiving.”

Laughter, quiet, but not without mirth, crossed the border. “It’s a very short flight. You could even come here, if you wanted.”

How honest was he allowed to be, he wondered? Were they speaking straight with each other, truly? He bit his lip and tried his luck.

“Sure, maybe when the honeymoon is over,” he bandied, hoping the grin in his voice would carry to Benny.

The silence he received in response was immensely worrying. 

And then, nervous, breathy laughter.

“Ray…” A noise halfway between a sigh and an abortive laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He was glad his old partner couldn’t see his face. He affected the most casual, two-friends-clapping-each-other-on-the-back-after-a-game kind of tone he could. Like he was talking to his favorite cousin. “I love you. You need to make the choice that’s right for you.” In person, his shaking lower lip would have betrayed him.

“I… thank you.” He coughed, or cleared his throat. The noise was wet and unhappy. “I… I really do. I.” He stumbled, painfully, over the next few words. “I feel— that I. I need you to know that I, I love you, as well. And I’m. I’m sorry I… that I didn’t realize sooner.”

“Yeah, well,” Ray swallowed, feeling a thin stream of hot saltwater roll down his cheek. He brushed his face off with his sleeve. “Now I don’t have any competition from Mr. Mountie Universe, so I’m sure my prospects will be looking up in no time.”

He wasn’t sure how, exactly, but Ray could hear Benny smiling. 

“I’m sure they will,” Benny assured him. “Stay safe, Ray. And keep me apprised of your condition, if you can. I want to know when you’re fully recovered.”

“Course, Benny. You gonna have a phone wherever you’re going, or should I invest in some carrier pigeons?”

“Carrier pigeons can hardly survive the Yukon, Ray.” A beat. “Have you ever thought about training yourself a wolf?”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

“I suppose a St. Bernard would suffice, if you aren’t willing to find an orphaned cub…”

Ray snorted. “Phone is halfway to the cradle. I can’t take you as a comedian.”

“I’ll make sure you have my forwarding address.” 

“Don’t be a stranger, Benny.”

Benny breathed out hard through his nose. “You and I could never be strangers, Ray.”

Silence spread between them, across countries, across the years. There was so much still left unsaid, and so much that never would be.

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He swallowed any last lingering desperation— any desire to say something like  _ ‘but you know where I’ll be if you ever change your mind’ _ — and instead wished his friend goodbye. “Be safe out there.”

“And the same to you, partner.”

And the line went silent. And Ray stood there with the phone in his hand, wondering when, if ever, it would be safe to remove the barb between his ribs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) This is the saddest chapter, and it gets less sad from here, I promise.  
> 2) I need everyone to know that I felt really quite terrible crushing Ray V. like this, and repeatedly had to go back and rewrite the dialogue to be less romantic. Also, any unkind things being said about Ray V. here are intended to be a reflection of his own poor self-esteem (protip! there will be more of the same in the Ray K. chapter because apparently you have to have bad self-esteem to work with Benton Fraser) and not my own feelings. I don't think he's a schlub at all. ;__;


	2. Fraser, Split Attraction

Benton Fraser was in love with two men who, for a period of time, had shared the same name. He had lost one of them, and it had nearly broken him. Even now, finding closure, he felt a bit like an old bone that had never healed right, purposefully broken again in the hopes of setting correctly this time. He wasn’t going to let the same thing happen again with another person he cared about. 

He bit the inside of his lip, watching Ray— Stanley, technically, but he hated the way it felt in his mouth— standing, arms crossed, face sullen and haggard, against the mountain backdrop. Yesterday, they had had a conversation that had been interrupted. Ray had asked if Benton would be returning to his original partner, and he had understood, suddenly, that he was  _ jealous _ . His heart rate had shot up well above where it was supposed to be for a healthy, active man, and then it had gone up even further when he had really looked at Ray’s face. 

He had blathered on about Frobisher and his father— stupid— and, in his nervous haste, said something almost completely the opposite of what he had actually meant. Something about still caring about each other even being separated. Ray had bristled visibly at this, and had been about to respond when Maggie had come to say her goodbyes. 

It was only there, standing with her— another person he could never quite sort out his feelings for— that his nonsense had only been nonsense because it was spoken to the wrong Ray.

He needed to talk to Ray Vecchio. He needed to hear his voice one more time before he stepped forward into this new decision. But he also owed Ray Kowalski the truth; slipping away unnoticed to call his old partner without any explanation to his current partner felt a bit like cheating. 

Probably, he admitted, because it  _ was _ a bit like cheating. If either of them said today—  _ “Benny— Fraser— I have more than collegial feelings for you and I want you for myself—” _ he would say yes. And he would feel awful about it. But he would still say yes. That this was the truth of the matter made him feel rather spectacularly like a bad person. If he really dug deeply into his psyche, he might even admit that in a perfect world, perhaps they might  _ both _ tell him they wanted him, and then the three of them could all move into his father’s old cabin and raise dogs together until they grew old. But considering the two Rays didn’t much seem to like each other, that seemed like an unrealistic solution. 

Old trapper’s wisdom— if you hunt multiple quarries, you’ll catch neither. 

So Benton spent the rest of the day awkwardly stepping around Ray, trying to find a moment alone. When he finally did, his words failed him, as they usually did when it came to matters of emotion.

He cleared his throat, coming up behind Ray, who was sitting forlornly in front of the fire. What he wanted to say was: ‘ _ Ray, I think I might be in love with you. You and I need to discuss the prospects of a possible future together, but I have a few loose ends that need to be tied up first. The idea of losing you is completely unbearable to me, and I think you feel the same way. If you can be patient with me for a little while longer, I think we can start to figure out what it is we really mean to one another.’ _

But, with a tap on the shoulder, what he actually said was: “Ray, I have to make a call. I need to discuss something with Ray Vecchio.”

Ray Kowalski’s expression was unreadable as he shrugged. He pursed his lips slightly and acquiesced. “Okay.” He turned away and poked at the fire with a stick.

Furious with himself and completely embarrassed, Benton had provided no further context, instead leaving his friend while his back was turned. 

Stellar work, as always, with any romantic prospect. 

He half-jogged back into the station, hoping to catch a moment alone with the telephone.

As he dialed, he felt his legs jelly and the space beneath his ribs grow cold. What was he going to say to him? _ “I love you, but I don’t know if I still love you the way I did two years ago? I’m calling to make one final determination as to whether I should come back to Chicago to you, or listen to what my gut is telling me and try to convince your replacement to stay here with me? This is your last chance to tell me something that’s going to convince me otherwise? I think we might have missed our chance to be something other than what we are to each other?” _ His mouth went dry at any of the possible options that lay ahead of him.

He couldn’t clearly remember anything that had happened on the day he had come home to find Ray was gone. He recalled hounding Ray Kowalski endlessly, not thinking for even a second about  _ why _ someone might be impersonating his best and only real friend. And he recalled, at the end of the day, receiving Ray’s postcard— and after a blisteringly awkward dinner with the new Ray, going back to the consulate.

And holding the postcard in his hands.

And watching as a drop of water fell on its surface. 

And realizing, suddenly in control of himself once again, as if his body had shut off from the shock and only now, alone, rebooted, that he was crying. 

And realizing, only now, in that moment, when it was already too late, that the feeling he was experiencing was heartbreak. 

Because he had been left alone again. And he was in love with his partner, and his partner was gone. 

By the next day, he could pretend everything was alright. And he could pretend looking at this other Ray— this interloper— didn’t make him want to give up and go home. He would be alone there, but at least he wouldn’t be alone with a stranger. By the next week, he could pretend to be friendly with him, even. By Summer, he  _ did _ like him, even if he irritated him immensely  _ all the time. _ By new year’s, he was starting to feel like maybe he liked him more than was professionally responsible. 

But his ever growing affection for Ray Kowalski didn’t make his affection for Ray Vecchio any less real, nor did it make this phone call any less painful.

At the third place he dialed—the hospital told him he had been discharged, and yet no one picked up at Frannie’s— the precinct, he finally got through. The familiar scratchy Chicago accent on the other end made his stomach tight and hot.

“Vecchio.”

Benton cleared his throat. “Hello, Ray. It’s me. Benton Fraser.”

“Hey Benny,” Ray responded, feigning his usual slick sort of chill. A jagged edge to his voice made it clear he didn’t feel particularly slick or chill at the moment. “How’s the great white north?”

Benton ignored the question. “How are you doing, Ray?”

The man had just been shot. He sounded surprisingly well, but that he had been released from the hospital already seemed… irresponsible.

But Ray brushed it off. “I’m okay, Benny. Up and about.” He changed subjects. “You? I heard Muldoon’s in custody.”

“You heard correctly,” he explained, wondering briefly if maybe Ray had discharged himself in order to help with the case, before realizing what an incredibly self-centered assumption that was. “I’m glad to hear you’re well, Ray.” Benton looked around the outpost building, more cabin than actual station. A crackling fire provided a gentle auditory background to his conversation. “In all the commotion, I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

Ray’s response was quick. An exhalation of sensation. “I missed you, too.”

“I wish…” He decided to give him a final opportunity to say something that would change his mind. Something that would tell him he was making a mistake. “I wish we could have reunited under different circumstances.”

There was a long pause. Benton suspected his message had been received, for better or for worse. If he was wrong, and there had never been anything between himself and Ray Vecchio, it was a bit of an odd statement. 

Not the sort of thing one heterosexual man says to another during a long-distance heart-to-heart.

Ray’s response, when it arrived, was quiet. Spilling over with melancholy. But final. “Me too, Benny.”

His bowels a web of cordage, Benton continued. “There are…” He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve. “There are some things I need to take care of, here. And I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you. Leaving without saying goodbye.”

_ Like my mother did. _

_ Like my father did. _

_ Like Victoria did. _

_ Like you did. _

Suddenly chilled despite the fire, Benton’s hands were shaking. He was wrong on almost every account— no one had purposefully abandoned him but Victoria. And even she had her reasons. Nonetheless, he was glad he managed to avoid running his mouth off. The last thing he needed to do was blame Ray for doing his job.

The next part was almost impossible to spit out. “But… I’m not certain I’ll be returning to Chicago in any official capacity, Ray.”

Silence yawned between them before Ray snapped, “Yeah. Frannie told me you might be heading to Toronto with Thatcher. I’m,” he paused, his speech slowing, his voice growing softer. “I’m glad you’re getting to go home.”

“Well, not Toronto,” Benton jumped to explain. “Toronto isn’t home for me. And besides, I’m not going with Thatcher. I’m…” He realized he was babbling. He tried to bring himself back to the point at hand. “I’m not entirely certain what comes next, if I’m going to be honest, Ray. I need to…” He breathed out through his nose, completely unsure of how to explain himself. “I need to figure out what…”

He looked down at the rough wood floor, biting the inside of his lip.  _ How do you tell someone you’re in love with that you’re planning on propositioning someone else? How do you let someone know you care about them— that you’ve always loved them— without leading them on? How do you admit you’ve weighed two human beings against one another in your heart, and decided on someone else? _

Shakily, he proceeded, trying to sound as neutral as he could. “I need to talk to—” He paused. He could hardly tell Ray he needed to talk to Ray about Ray’s feelings. “To Stanley about his plans.” He would never get used to calling him that.

More silence, and a strange sort of buzzing quiet, like the phone had drifted out of Ray’s hand. 

And then abruptly: “Sure, sure. Is he thinking about becoming a mountie?”

Benton snorted a quiet little laugh. Ray Kowalski, American Mountie. That would certainly be a first. “No, Ray. I…” He let his compunction to honesty propel him forward. “I think we may both be taking some time off from the force, to tell you the truth. That is, if.”  _ If. If _ was a big word, considering he hadn’t breathed a word of this plan to Ray Kowalski. “If he wants to.”

The silence on the other end grew heavy and leaden. 

Benton could see Ray’s face, across the miles. Holding the phone against his ear, his hand a little too tight on the receiver. Almost expressionless, but with a hard set to his jaw. Looking off into the middle distance. 

The man knew what he was implying. Years too late, they were finally on the same page about the trajectory of their desires.

Benton rambled on, filling the silence. “It… won’t be forever, Ray. I don’t particularly want to get in the habit of only seeing you once every two to three years. We’ll visit—” He stopped himself. That was probably the last thing he wanted to hear—  _ we _ . “I. I’ll visit.” He felt heat building behind his eyes, and his throat grew tight and dry. He managed to sputter, “I don’t ever want to stop thinking of you as my friend, Ray.”

“Never, Benny,” Ray responded, almost instantaneously. When he continued, the usual scratchiness deepened to gravel. “You sure as hell better come and visit me. Frannie’ll have my head if you aren’t here for Thanksgiving.” 

Benton laughed, despite himself, and he extended the same invitation. “It’s a very short flight. You could even come here, if you wanted.”

He could hear a brief hesitation on the other end and worried, for a moment, that somehow he had overstepped a boundary.

And then, with a surprising tone of warmth, Ray teased him: “Sure, maybe when the honeymoon is over.”

Benton bit the inside of his lip, suddenly shaking. He knew, of course, that they both knew what they were talking about. But he hadn’t expected an open acknowledgement. He surprised himself as nervous, breathy laughter spilled out of his mouth.

“Ray…” He tried to still his jittery body, breathing out slowly on one last laugh. He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ray assuaged. And then he proceeded to knock the wind out of Benton entirely. “I love you.” His tone was collegial, light and fraternal. But it was affected. He meant it, so deeply that Benton’s legs lost their steel. “You need to make the choice that’s right for you.”

He had no idea how to form the necessary response. “I… thank you.” He stopped for a moment, feeling his nose start to run. He so rarely cried. He wasn’t one of those people who believed it was unmasculine, or a sign of weakness, but… very little produced that effect in him, for one reason or another. It seemed, sometimes, that the only thing that really  _ did _ have that effect was detectives named Ray. “I… I really do. I.” He stopped again, trying not to let his friend hear the growing moisture in his voice. He stumbled over his words. “I feel— that I. I need you to know that I, I love you, as well. And I’m.” He sniffed, pulling the phone away from his face, and he admitted something he hadn’t been certain he could ever admit. “I’m sorry I… that I didn’t realize sooner.”

“Yeah, well,” Ray strained, grief and bitterness giving way to sarcasm, “Now I don’t have any competition from Mr. Mountie Universe, so I’m sure my prospects will be looking up in no time.”

Benton smiled, softly. He tasted salt on his lips. 

“I’m sure they will,” he agreed, hoping that with every molecule of his physical form that Ray really would find a healthy way to move on. His actual thought was:  _ I hope you find someone who makes you feel the way we used to feel together. I hope you find someone who makes you feel the way I feel right now, when I think about what I’m about to ask Ray Kowalski.  _ He stood a little straighter, wiping the back of his sleeve against his eyes. “Stay safe, Ray. And keep me apprised of your condition, if you can. I want to know when you’re fully recovered.”

“Course, Benny. You gonna have a phone wherever you’re going, or should I invest in some carrier pigeons?”

Without thinking, Benton responded, “Carrier pigeons can hardly survive the Yukon, Ray.” And then he realized Ray was joking, and made a jest himself. “Have you ever thought about training yourself a wolf?”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

Benton grinned. “I suppose a St. Bernard would suffice, if you aren’t willing to find an orphaned cub…”

At this, Ray snorted with laughter, and threatened, “Phone is halfway to the cradle.” He laughed again, a singular chuckle. “I can’t take you as a comedian.”

Had he not joked much, he wondered, with Ray? 

He had, of course. But no one had ever really known when he was joking, back then. He hadn’t been much good at it. 

“I’ll make sure you have my forwarding address.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Benny.”

“You and I could never be strangers, Ray.” He wanted to say more. But he didn’t want to say anything he might regret. And he didn’t know how to say the most important things in any way that he hadn’t already said them.

He cleared his throat. one hand behind his back. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Ray breathed in audibly. “Be safe out there.”

“And the same to you, partner.”

He hung up the phone, and stood for a moment in the firelight. He took a deep breath, clasped his other hand behind his back, and looked out the window, to where Ray Kowalski still sat in the snow. 

Ray Kowalski had never been easy like Ray Vecchio had been. With Vecchio, Benton had found a friendship that came quickly and simply to him. Even when Ray complained or argued, it was often out of affection. He acquiesced easily, and on the occasions he didn’t, Benton knew it was time to back off. Ray trusted Benton instinctually, and often they had worked together without ever having to verbalize what they needed. It had been  _ so _ simple,  _ so easy _ , that he hadn’t realized just how much he loved him— how much he  _ needed  _ him— until he was gone. 

With Kowalski, everything was friction. Their partnership had begun with friction, and that friction had continued well past the point Benton considered Ray his friend. Even now, when he was about to ask Ray to join him in what might, in fact, be a  _ relationship  _ with a capital R, there was friction. Ray pushed back, questioned, got annoyed, got  _ angry _ . And it had made Benton a more flexible detective, and a better friend. And he wasn’t going to let himself be blind to how that made him feel. Not this time.

He  _ liked _ the way Ray challenged him. He liked how he was comfortable throwing barbs around with him, but always turned and looked at Benton with that mischievous glint, making sure the joke had landed right. He liked the way Ray kept trying new things to demonstrate their level of closeness and affection— nicknames that barely stuck for a day, activities it turned out neither of them really enjoyed, quick touches and exchanges of smiles. He liked the way Ray looked at him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention, lingering in a way that left Benton almost feeling like they had kissed.

If what he could have had with Ray Vecchio would have been the comforting love of home, like a meal with family, safety, and warmth— then what he felt with Ray Kowalski was a love like an engine, a pushing and pulling of levers and gears against each other, all movement and tension and heat. 

He stepped out of the cabin and into the snow, thinking as he walked. He had never been overly concerned about the fact that he was attracted to men and women, when he was attracted to anyone. What someone had in their pants seemed rather trivial weighed up against what kind of person they were, or what they believed in. (And besides— few things were truly that binary. Who, when answering a preference for chocolate or vanilla, honestly insisted that they would only eat that one flavor for the rest of their lives?) But he suspected that Ray probably cared rather a lot about these things, the same way he cared more about looking 'cool' than being accurate with a firearm. 

If he told him point blank,  _ ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with you, and I’m reasonably certain you feel the same way. I think we should consider a monogamous romantic and sexual relationship,’ _ Ray would probably be made exceptionally uncomfortable. Benton needed to approach this in a way that wouldn’t make him feel like they were moving too quickly or that his masculinity was being brought into question. He needed to be subtle, but clear. He needed to throw out a line, but be ready for a long wait before he could reel anything in.

Which, considering the way all his words failed him every time he ever needed to talk to someone about romance, meant he was hopelessly out of his depth.

He sat down on the large, overturned log by the fire beside his partner.

Ray looked up at him with an expression of despondency masked by casual disinterest. He pursed his lips slightly, ducklike, and looked back down at the fire.

“How’s he doing?” 

“Out of the hospital, surprisingly.” 

“That’s good.” He nodded, mildly, still looking into the fire. Then he squinted, and peered at Benton without moving his head. “Wait. Already? He got  _ shot _ .”

“Not the first time,” Benton grimaced, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

“If anyone ever shoots me on your watch, I’m taking my sweet time in the hospital.” Ray poked at the fire with a long branch. “Pudding cups and popsicles every day until they kick my ass out.” He stiffened, and bit at the inside of his lip.

“R—” Benton paused. “Stanley. Stan?” He paused again. “...Kowalski?” He scrunched his face up on one side, teeth bared, thinking about how each of those options felt. They all felt uncomfortable. Strange and foreign. “Would it… bother you if I continued calling you Ray?”

“Not at all,” he shrugged, shaking his head. “I’ve never really gone by Stan. And…” He gestured out in front of him with his free hand, palm up, fingers outstretched slightly. “And… that’s who I am to you, right? It’d be weird if you just… start calling me something different.” 

_ Thank god. _

“Well— Ray, then.”

“Yes Fraser.”

“Did you mean it, when you said you wanted to go on an adventure?”

Ray turned towards him, fully. “Excuse me?”

“When we were trapped in the ice field. You said, ‘if we get—” 

“I know  _ what _ you’re talking about, Fraser, I just don’t know why.”

Benton looked up to the darkening sky. He wasn’t certain why Ray seemed so woebegone, but he wasn’t listening to the intentions behind his words. He was going to need to be more direct.

“I’m asking you,” he began, outlining his intentions, “If you’d like to accompany me on an adventure.” He looked Ray in the eye, the fire making his brown eyes the color of honey liqueur. And he waited for his response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Fraser, you are so awkward. And you want what's best for everyone, even if that means putting your own feelings last. At least you got your words out at the end there, bud.


	3. Kowalski, Called to Action

Ray Kowalski was in love with Benton Fraser, but he knew nothing would ever come of it. It didn’t make it hurt any less when, after all was said and done and Muldoon was in custody, in the first moment they were left alone, Fraser tapped him lightly on the shoulder and left.

“Ray, I have to make a call,” he had said, a little sharply, like the words felt wrong in his mouth. “I need to discuss something with Ray Vecchio.”

Kowalski— he had to start thinking of himself as that again— nodded and shrugged. “Okay.” And then he was alone by the fire.

At least Fraser seemed a little guilty, he comforted himself. He cared enough about him that he felt a little  _ bad _ about going back to his old partner. 

The whole thing was so painfully stupid, he sighed to himself. What kind of idiot falls in love with a  _ mountie _ . A Canadian. A beautiful grown-up boy scout with a hero complex, perfect hair, and the bluest eyes Ray had ever seen. Nothing could possibly come of mooning over a guy like that— the Superman type was wholesome and chaste, and got his pick of the equally wholesome and chaste drop-dead gorgeous girls. The Superman type didn't slum it with divorced, pissed off, skinny rat boys who barely made it through high school.

As far as he knew, Fraser didn't even  _ have  _ sex, forget have sex with  _ men _ . 

Ray— or rather, he corrected himself— Kowalski, leaned his elbows against his knees and let his head fall into his hands.

His own sexual maturation was so entirely wrapped up in the concept of Stella that it was impossible to pinpoint, even if he had wanted to, a specific moment where he became aware he wasn’t exclusively attracted to women. He could distinctly recall thinking in high school that he  _ wasn’t _ attracted to men; that he had been thinking about it at all probably should have been a tip-off. Once, someone had asked him whether there was a sexual component to the Steve McQueen thing, and he had shrugged and joked that he might not say no if he were the one asking. He could remember a handful of guys he boxed with making him feel a certain way. After his divorce, he contemplated agreeing to a date with a good looking mechanic who had quietly propositioned him, but instead he had lied and told the guy he was flattered, but not interested. 

Fraser was the first man who had  _ really _ made him confront that part of himself.

He had liked him immediately, although he was aware the feeling wasn’t mutual. Fraser had spent those first few months too angry that he wasn’t the real Ray to form any kind of meaningful friendship. And on top of that, he wasn’t really all that  _ good _ at friendship— he wanted Ray to follow along, to agree, to provide back-up. He had no sense of give-and-take and no use for conflicting opinions. But he was so  _ good _ , and so damn smart, and had so much drive and energy, and he was  _ so _ ,  _ so _ goddamn handsome. So absurdly, stupidly handsome that on the first stakeout they did together, Kowalski had  _ literally asked Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police if he found him attractive _ , in front of a bunch of other people, before realizing how incredibly gay that sounded. 

Or, as he had realized later, how incredibly gay that  _ was _ — he had asked because the man was smoking hot and he wanted to know if the feeling was mutual. Attraction led to lust and lust led to pining; it became very difficult to deny he was at least a little bit into guys when one particular guy occupied so much of his emotional time. And, well, the sex dreams sort of drove that home. He wouldn’t call himself bisexual or anything, but he had come to terms with the idea that his libido might be a bit more flexible than he had previously admitted.

But he had been living in a fantasy world, banking on the idea that if he just had enough time, they would simply keep growing closer until magically, without ever having to actually talk about it or say words like ‘sex’ or ‘attracted’ or ‘gay’ out loud to Fraser, they would wind up in bed together and everything would be hunky-dory. Until he saw the way Fraser’s face looked when he saw the real Ray. He lit up like a suburban yard at Christmas, for that bald son-of-a-bitch. And immediately, he and Vecchio had been at each other’s throats, in a way that he had intimately felt before— it was the same way he felt with Stella’s new boyfriends. It didn’t take more than that to realize the real Ray felt the same way about Fraser that he did. 

He seemed like a good man, at least.

So he backed off. And he tried to be gracious. And he watched as every chick who’d ever been crushing on Fraser (which is to say, all of them) came out of the woodwork to Talk About Their Feelings, like he was going to go die or something. And he watched as Fraser blew them off.

The same way, he realized, he was about to be blown off. 

Fraser walked back over to the fire with his hands behind his back, like he was walking at parade rest. His face looked kind of grim, which confirmed R— which confirmed Kowalski’s suspicions. He looked into the fire, hoping he could play everything off as casually as possible.

Fraser sat down beside him on the big downed tree by the fire. Kowalski looked up at him without meaning to. 

He took a deep breath in through his nose, letting the cold air ground him. He turned back to the fire before asking, “How’s he doing?” He didn’t really want to see Fraser’s response.

“Out of the hospital, surprisingly.” 

“That’s good.” He nodded, unthinkingly. Nice that he was out of the hospital. Except— “Wait. Already? He got  _ shot _ .” He couldn’t help but squint at Fraser.

Fraser made a strange sort of face, somehow hitting the halfway point between relief and horror. “Not the first time.”

Well. That was being a cop. There was something in Fraser’s face that said ‘there’s more to this,’ but Kowalski didn’t need to know. He sighed, “if anyone ever shoots me on your watch, I’m taking my sweet time in the hospital.” Not that he was going to be on Fraser’s watch much longer. Unless Welsh decided to make the three of them work together or something, god forbid. “Pudding cups and popsicles every day until they kick my ass out.” The idea of having to watch Fraser make that face at Ray Vecchio, pretending they could just all be chums  _ almost _ sounded worse than giving up on working alongside Fraser at all. 

“R—” Fraser interrupted his woolgathering with a noise. “Stanley. Stan? ...Kowalski?” There was a brief pause, and then Fraser’s voice went a little low and quiet. “Would it… bother you if I continued calling you Ray?”

_ It sure fucking wouldn’t. _

“Not at all,” he shrugged, shaking his head. He had told him, a long time ago, that he had actually gone by Ray most of his life, but the issue of Two Rays Simultaneously seemed to have screwed him up on that fact. “I’ve never really gone by Stan. And…” He thought about whether he wanted to continue with this line of explanation, looking at his hands in front of the fire. “And… that’s who I am to you, right? It’d be weird if you just… start calling me something different.” 

“Well— Ray, then.” Fraser sounded immensely relieved. 

It was weird how rigid he could be about certain things, Ray sighed, still not making eye contact. He was so damn smart, but at the same time… he really  _ was _ from another planet. 

When he didn’t say anything else, Ray tried to remind him they were having a conversation. “Yes Fraser.”

Drawn back to reality, Fraser asked, “Did you mean it, when you said you wanted to go on an adventure?”

Ray turned his head and shoulders to Fraser, dropping his stick. “Excuse me?” He had said that because he was hypothermic, losing his damn marbles, and pretty sure he was going to die. He would not have admitted something that stupid and childish if he had thought Fraser was going to throw it back at him later.

“When we were trapped in the ice field. You said, ‘if we get—” 

He snapped. “I know  _ what _ you’re talking about, Fraser, I just don’t know why.”

Fraser paused and looked up, his expression troubled. He hadn’t meant to sound so mean, but he was embarrassed and shaken. He gave Fraser a little space to collect his thoughts, and gave himself a little space to unclench.

“I’m asking you,” Fraser explained, very softly, a little hesitant, “If you’d like to accompany me on an adventure.” And then he looked Ray in the eye.

Ray felt like his brain turned off. He sat with his mouth slightly open, his head tilted like an idiot dog. He had been expecting a let down; a dissolving of their partnership. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but this sounded like the opposite of that. He had no framework for processing these words.

“Like… freakin’...”

_ Oh yeah. Good start, Ray. _

“Like Lois and Clark?”

“Lewis and Clark,” Fraser corrected.

_ Lois and Clark is that Superman show, you dimwit. The romance one. _

Reddening, Ray cut him off. “You and me, just setting off into the wilderness kind of adventure? More of what we’ve been doing the past few days? Mountain climbing and fjording and shit?”

“Yes,” Fraser nodded. His expression grew a little scrunched, his posture a little weak. “That was my intention.” 

“You and me.”

“And Diefenbaker, of course.” 

“What about Frobisher and Thatcher and all them?”

“I let Maggie know I was contemplating a change in assignment last night. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

“What about everyone back in Chicago?” He refused to hear any of this until he was certain it wasn’t some kind of cosmic joke, a too-good-to-be-true scenario. “What about Vecchio?”

“He’s hardly in a position to brave the great outdoors right now, Ray.” He paused, looking down at his boots. “Besides, that’s what I called him about.” He looked back at Ray, his stare unfocused and hesitant. “To tell him I might not be returning to Chicago for a while.” 

Ray crossed his arms, pinching the inside of his bicep. Was he dreaming? Was someone pranking him? Was Fraser really suggesting that the two of them— just the two of them and the damn wolf— head out into the wilderness together like some kind of lumberjack honeymoon?

“We’d have to take a leave of absence,” he protested, weakly.

“Correct. But considering your previous assignment just ended, this would be as good of a time as any to do so.”

Ray bit down on the tip of his tongue, willing himself not to throw his arms around Fraser’s neck and say ‘I do.’ 

“Why?”

“Well,” Fraser began, choosing his words carefully, “I was thinking that I needed some time away from the city.” He licked his lower lip, looking out into the distance. “And I thought that, perhaps, you could use some time away from… being someone you aren’t.”

The blush Ray had been feeling earlier crept down his neck. He crossed his arms more tightly, pretending he was merely cold, and not struck dumb. 

Was Fraser propositioning him? Was he being led on? Was this just some kind of Canadian thing— every few years, you and a buddy head out into the mountains and try not to die for a couple of months? 

He couldn’t let it be what it sounded like. Because he couldn’t believe Fraser might  _ actually _ feel that way about him. 

He cleared his throat, arms still tightly crossed.

“Th’other day you said something to me about your dad and Frobisher.” He breathed out, a huff of white from his nose. “That they didn’t see each other for months sometimes. That they’d be out there in the wilderness, and they’d be apart, but like. Together in spirit or some bullshit.”

“I would hardly—”

“Be quiet, Fraser.”

“Understood.”

He turned abruptly and looked at Fraser, setting his jaw, trying not to let it be a pout. “I don’t want that.” He raised his shoulders sharply, more punctuation than a shrug, and let them fall equally rapidly. “I can’t live like that. If this is that kind of trip— if you’re expecting me to be able to herd buffalo on top of some crag somewhere while you’re swimming with dolphins in the Northwest Passage, I can’t do it. I can’t be partners with someone across a thousand miles.”

Fraser swallowed, looking sheepish. His mouth opened slightly.

Ray held his hand up to silence him. “I’m not done. I know you’re all into that cosmic connection, we’re-all-just-points-in-a-constellation stuff, that you,” he shook his outstretched hands in front of him, looking down at his untied left boot, “you look for patterns and meaning and big pictures and— and so for you, it’s like, y’know. You can still be best friends with some fisherman from fourth grade—” 

“Delmar is a trapper, actu—”

“Shut up and let me talk.” He pointed at his partner. “Everybody  _ likes _ you. You see someone you haven’t seen in sixty years and they act like you last saw one another for coffee yesterday. I can’t even talk to my  _ parents _ like a normal person. I gotta be  _ close _ to the people I’m close with. So if this is a Buck Frobisher and Bob Fraser kinda adventure, I’m gonna have to say no.”

Fraser nodded, waiting. He sat with his hands folded, and said nothing. At first, Ray thought maybe he had really shot himself in the foot, and that Fraser had taken offense to something he had loudly rambled at him. 

When he realized what was actually happening, he scrunched his eyes shut and sighed. “You can talk now, Fraser.”

“Ray.” He itched at his hairline with his glove. “The comparison between Buck and my father that I was making wasn’t about you and I. You asked about Ray Vecchio, and I was trying to explain…” He tented his fingers, suddenly looking very embarrassed. “In this metaphor, my father and Buck Frobisher are… me and Ray. You and I are…” He blinked, his eyelashes fluttering together and apart in rapid sequence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear. I would want us to… be together, on this adventure. If,” he swallowed, “that’s something you’re interested in.”

Ray brought his hands to his face, pretending to blow into them for warmth. In actuality, he was hiding the grin that had just crept its way onto his face. He fought to maintain composure, taking a few deep breaths before answering.

He flattened his expression as much as he could. “Well… as long as you promise not to leave me in an ice field somewhere, then, yeah, sure.” He looked Fraser in the eye. His face was slightly pinkish, but Ray couldn’t be certain if it was from the cold. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

Fraser smiled widely, exposing that one slightly crooked eye tooth that Ray found rather roguishly handsome. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. Ray couldn’t help but grin along with him. 

Offering his hand out to shake, Fraser made a pact. “To the hand of Franklin, then?”

“Damn right,” Ray agreed, shaking on it. 

They both watched each others’ eyes for a second too long, then looked down, laughing quiet nervous laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get the warm and fuzzy stuff. If this feels like an awkward break, that's probably because it kind of is? This third chapter was originally going to be a bit longer than the other chapters, but then it got Too Long and also started heading into a different-age-rating-kind-of-territory, so I plan on posting that as a follow-up fic when it's done. In the meantime, picture Fraser and Ray sitting side by side in front of a fire, grinning like idiots. <3


End file.
